
face sullen the weight
of loss betwixt her glimmer
lies she tells herself

face sullen the weight
of loss betwixt her glimmer
lies she tells herself
As a taster to this summer’s publication of New Lyricist magazine (EiF)…
The Table

i don’t want to be a Neruda love poem girl
i want my thoughts to be admired like the turquoise gold around the throat of a hummingbird
i don’t want a boy to be my knight in anything shiny valiant or stunning
i want him to see the blaze inside me through the holes of my Salvation Army black jeans





sorry i haven’t been by in nights
ive been on the high and drunk
running after your unrequited children
do you know how hard they live
the chance to win is really small
walking with your zombie children
we’ve learned a lot about the battle
whispering strategies into starving ears we crawl
above the city and her walls praying
dusting lime on dying children





